(We do a motherboard replacement for a customer. Everything seems to be fine except that a moment or two after Windows loads, the screen takes on a yellow tinge. Since it does the same thing when hooked up to an external monitor, we figure the parts distributor has sent a motherboard with a faulty video chip — the logic being that if it was a screen issue, then an external monitor would look normal. I have reloaded the video driver just in case, with the same results. So, I make the dreaded call to the customer, who’s a 20-something kid with a bit of an attitude.)

Me: “It’s looking like the parts distributor sent us a faulty motherboard, since it gets this yellow tinge after it loads Windows.”

Customer: “Oh, yeah, it’s supposed to do that. It’s an app I put in which reduces glare at night.” 

Me: “So… you know we’re putting in a new motherboard and it doesn’t occur to you to tell us that you run an app which turns the screen yellow?!”

(We try to get as much info from clients as we can – passwords, exact symptoms, what antivirus and version of Windows they run, etc. It has never occurred to me that I should need to ask someone if they TINT THEIR FRIGGING SCREEN. So, we wasted an hour of our time troubleshooting a problem that wasn’t a problem. Under normal circumstances, an issue like this — in my experience — would be hardware-related. And people wonder why I get high blood pressure.)

(I work in the bakery department of a well-known supermarket chain. We keep a shelf of rye bread that is shipped in from “Company” every other day. It sells out quickly. We have our own store baked rye in addition.)

Customer: “Excuse me! Do you have any more of “Company’s” rye in the back?”

Me: “No, sir. I’m sorry, but all we have is already out on the shelf. We do have store baked rye though.”

Customer: “What? Do you people not want to make money? You’re not going to get any money if you don’t have rye.”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir. We get it shipped in every other day, so you can try again tomorrow. If you order some, we can guarantee to have it for you as we tend to sell out quickly. You can also try the store’s rye.”

Customer: “No, that’s stupid! You should always have rye! Can’t you order more?”

Me: “That would be up to my manager, though she’s done it this way for 10 years, so I doubt she’d change it.”

Customer: “Whatever. That’s just stupid. I guess you don’t want any money. *Grabs store baked rye and storms off*

Me: “Okay sir, have a nice day…”

I’m stopped at a light at the end of the main thoroughfare through my town. Either direction, there are only two ways you can go: left or right. 

The way the intersection works is that those coming into town have a green arrow first while those leaving town — i.e. me — have a delayed green. There is no turn allowed on red, so even those turning right have to wait for the light. 

I’m waiting to turn right and am sitting behind another car. The light turns green but one last car decides to run the light and make the left, so we have to wait. The problem is that the moment the green arrow goes away, the crosswalk to the right becomes active and everyone walking across the road has the right of way. 

And wouldn’t you know, at the exact moment the guy decides to run the light, there is a perfect poster for why you yield for pedestrians — an elderly couple and a young woman with a stroller are all attempting to cross. The elderly man holds up his hand to wave to the car to stop, but the car ignores it and cuts in front of them. I’m thinking, “Wow, what a jerk!” when the car in front of me finally goes, so I turn, as well.

That’s when I see it. The problem is that right by this intersection is the municipal court and the police station. And right there, at this moment, is a squad car, who sees the guy run the light and cut off the people in the crosswalk. Not far down the road, the cop pulls him over. 

I retold my dad the story and he said the fines and penalties the guy would be hit with would be quite hefty.

(I am sixteen years old, working as a waitress in a pizza place that also has a dining area with a dinner menu. This pizza place happens to have a Monday/Tuesday pizza special where the base price of a large pizza is $10.99, a lot cheaper than the usual $13.49. Since it is such a great deal, the offer only applies to takeout and delivery orders. The restaurant is small, so I often answered phones on top of my waitressing duties. A couple comes in and sits in the dining area, ignoring the “Please Wait To Be Seated” sign.)

Male Customer: “We’d like a large plain pizza for that $10.99 deal.”

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but that deal only applies to takeout or delivery. I can still get you a pizza, but it will be the normal price.”

Male Customer: “That’s not true. I come in here all the time and the big guy always gives me the deal. Who are you? I’ve never seen you before.”

(He can’t mean the owner, who is very strict about prices, and I have worked Mondays and Tuesdays every week for almost a year, so I know he has to be lying.)

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but I’ve worked here for over a year and I don’t think we’ve ever had the deal for dine-in pizza, but I’ll ask a manager for you.”

Manager: “No, we’ve never done the deal for dine-in. It’s regular price.”

Male Customer: “Fine, we’ll take the pizza, but make sure it’s well done. I’m sending it back if I don’t like it.”

(Their pizza is soon ready.)

Me: “Here’s your pizza, folks, well done. Would you like some garlic or parmesan cheese?”

Male Customer: “Of course we would. How else would we eat pizza?”

(About five minutes after they started eating, I go back to check on them and the woman, who had been pretty silent up to this point, speaks up.)

Female Customer: “Excuse me, but how old are you?”

Me: “I’m sixteen, ma’am, but I’ve been working here for over a year, as I said.”

Female Customer: “Well, good for you. I’m sorry about the way he treated you, but you handled him very well. You stayed so calm; it was very mature of you.”

Male Customer: “Yeah, I’m sorry about that. I must have been really hungry. If I were you, I would’ve told me to get the f*** out.”

Me: “Thank you for apologizing. I do my best to make sure everyone is happy, but I still have to follow the rules.”

(They ended up leaving me a tip worth more than their bill. They started out terrible but made up for it in the end.)

(I go to the local post office to get some postage and drop off the mail for my boss. Here is the actual conversation at the postal counter.)

Me: “Hi. I need a roll of reg—“

Post Office Lady: “No rolls.”

Me: “You don’t have rolls of stamps?”

Post Office Lady: “No.”

Me: “Okay, how about just 100 stamps, then?”

(She counts out five sheets of stamps.)

Me: “And I need one $1 stamp—“

Post Office Lady: “No $1 stamps.”

Me: “Okay, how about $2 stamps?”

Post Office Lady: “No $2 stamps.”

Me: “Um, all right. I need five postcard—“

Post Office Lady: “We don’t have postcard stamps.”

Me: *growing ever more incredulous* “You don’t have post… Okay, you know what? I’ll just take those, then. I’ll go somewhere else for the rest.”

(I get ready to pay.)

Post Office Lady: “Do you need anything else today?”

(SO MANY responses go through my head, it nearly explodes.)

Me: “Um, no. That will be all.”